Catch My Fall
by chrislee
Summary: Angel ponders how to deal with Buffy's revelation about her relationship with Spike. Post "Tenderness" and "Wounded"


Catch My Fall  
  
By Chrislee  
  
christie_mcdonal@hotmail.com  
  
Rated: strong R  
  
Angsty fic using characters borrowed from Joss Whedon and Co  
  
Started with "Tenderness," then "Wounded" and now…(borrowing a title from a Billy Idol song…)  
  
Catch My Fall  
  
It came as no surprise that she was gone. The covers were pulled up under the pillows, and Cordelia's t-shirt was folded neatly on the chair he himself had been sitting on a few hours earlier. He brushed his hand through his hair, rubbed his tired eyes and sat heavily on the bed.  
  
He should have come back sooner, should have known she would do a "confess and dash," but the baby- his baby- was, well, he was the most beautiful creature Angel had ever seen in his life and he couldn't seem to tear himself away from the smooth, perfect fingers and toes and the toothless mouth and the warm, sweet, human smell of him. When he'd finally fallen asleep in a bureau-drawer cum crib, even then Angel had been fascinated by the slow steady rise and fall of his breath.  
  
But he should have come back to her. He knew beyond all else that Buffy was shattered. The hopeful light in her eyes was gone, replaced with a look he knew all too well: despair, confusion, misery. If he'd had the luxury of seeing his own reflection he knew that there would have been many times when he would have encountered that exact look. And now she was out there somewhere, hurting, and he wasn't there to help her.  
  
Worse, while she had made her own awful admission, he had held back his own news. He supposed it was partly due to the shocking nature of Buffy's revelation: she'd fucked Spike. She'd killed Spike. He didn't know which truth was more devastating. But her news came on the heels of a pretty crazy day.  
  
Only hours ago (really only that?) he'd watched Darla do the only selfless thing he'd ever known her to do in her whole un-life. She's staked herself. Angel was pretty sure that was a first in the vampire world. She'd turned to dust, slipping through his fingers like water; then, the baby: whole, human, his.  
  
Angel swung his legs up onto the bed. Faintly, he could smell Buffy on his pillow. He closed his eyes, hoping for the sleep he so desperately needed. Instead he was haunted by visions of Buffy and Spike, a dirty movie playing over and over in his head. Knowing Spike as well as he did, knowing his predilection for pain, Angel knew that their union hadn't been about tenderness. He doubted Buffy would have fared any better afterwards even if it had. His feelings were so conflicted. There was no small measure of anger, a painful thorn in his pride…and, to be honest, jealousy. That was the worst. Angel liked to think he was beyond such superficial human emotions, but truth be told, he'd never been anything but possessive of Buffy. Even as Angelus, she'd belonged to him.  
  
And the thought that one of his kind had touched her, had filled her with his cold seed, had kissed her, moved against her, breathed in the scent of her…Angel bolted upright in bed. There would be no sleep for him this day.  
  
**  
  
At dusk, Cordelia knocked softly on Angel's bedroom door.  
  
"I'm up," came the muffled response.  
  
Cordelia pushed open the door and found Angel, shirtless, drinking a cup of blood. She marveled at the comfortable way he regarded her approach; made no move to cover his alabaster flesh, or hide his meal.  
  
"Where's Buffy?" she asked.  
  
"Gone," Angel replied. He set his mug down and reached for his shirt. "Home."  
  
"Is everything all right?"  
  
Angel said nothing, concentrated on buttoning his shirt.  
  
"Angel."  
  
"What do you think, Cordy? Do you think anything could possibly be all right?"  
  
"So, you told her about the baby, eh?" Cordy said. "Well, I mean, she had to understand, right. I mean, she had to know that the thing with Darla was a one of." Cordelia paused, "I mean, you explained it to her, right?"  
  
Angel moved to the window, pulling the heavy drapes back, exposing the room to the night.  
  
Cordelia moved to stand next to him. They made an odd pair, one reflected in the window, one not.  
  
"Angel," Cordelia said softly. "You did explain it to her, didn't you?"  
  
"No," he said, almost a sigh.  
  
Cordelia placed her hand on his muscled forearm. "Angel, I may not know much and I may not even like Buffy all that well, but you know that I think…" she hesitated. "I think that you two are forever. It defies explanation. It defies logic. But Darla, pffft. So she was your sire, whatever. The girl is…was…seriously deranged. You were in a bad place. You made a mistake. You're entitled, aren't you?"  
  
"It was no mistake, Cordy. That baby is no mistake," Angel said, firmly.  
  
"No, of course not. But sleeping with Darla..." Cordelia shrugged.  
  
"It just seems that Buffy and I can never get it right, can never get to the same place at the same time. We can never just **be**."  
  
"Be what? You just are. Look, Angel. There's no question that there are some big obstacles in your way. The baby just underlines the fact that if you want each other, really want each other, you're gonna have to fight for it." Cordelia stopped. "So, the only question is, do you really want her?"  
  
Angel's mind tumbled back to the day that wasn't, the precious memory of he and Buffy together, of his human self. Image after image assaulted his mind: the moment he'd burst through the hedge into the sunshine, the incredulous look in Buffy's eyes as she'd registered his approach, her trembling mouth as he'd kissed her, kissed her. Cup after cup of tea to drown out his need for her, to push away the desire. In the end, all it took was a simple gesture, her small hand on top of his much larger one. There was no backing away from her, no rational thought as he'd pulled her toward him, into him and then into her.  
  
"Yes," he croaked, miserably. "Of course, I want her. But it's more complicated than that."  
  
"Bullshit," Cordy spat out vehemently. "Every day of your life, every day since you got your soul back has been a fight, Angel. And the prize? Nothing. Just you trying to make up for every rotten, horrible, evil…" Angel shot her a look. "Well, you see where I'm going with this? If you and Buffy aren't meant to be together, if a vampire and a slayer can fall in love without any big purpose to that, well, there's just no point. What's it all for then?"  
  
"I don't know, Cordy." Angel said.  
  
"Well, you'd better figure it out," Cordy said, giving her friend a small smile. "I have faith that you will."  
  
Cordy turned to leave.  
  
"How's…the…"Angel started.  
  
"Your son is fine, Angel." Cordy said. "You should go to her."  
  
**  
  
Angel had a powerful feeling of déjà vu as he stood below Buffy's window back in Sunnydale. The drive had seemed inordinately long, but now that he was here; here where he could almost hear her breathing, Angel felt a sweeping moment of panic. He grabbed the trellis and began the climb up. Peering cautiously over the ledge, his first glimpse of her in almost 6 hours knocked the figurative breath from his lungs.  
  
God, she was beautiful. She lay on her side facing him, her long hair spread across the pillow, hand tucked under chin, eyelashes closed protectively over her eyes, those eyes. She seemed utterly defenseless. Her sleep wasn't a peaceful one. She twitched and moaned and Angel watched, mesmerized by the appearance of tears that left a silvery trail down her smooth cheek.  
  
Angel pulled himself up over the ledge of the window. He felt his throat constrict, felt a painful throb in the pit of his stomach as he moved to stand next to Buffy's bed. He reached out a tentative hand, so wanting to wipe away her tears, but not wanting to wake her.  
  
Buffy moaned, tossed her head and called out, "Oh."  
  
Angel sat quietly on the edge of her bed as he had done so often years ago; before Spike, before Angelus, before Glory, before graduation when he had finally removed the temptation by leaving her, delivering the first in a series of emotional wounds she would have to endure. He'd just assumed she'd be okay. He'd justified, rationalized, even lied in an effort to put distance between them and in the end all he'd really done was hurt her, hurt **them**.  
  
Did he dare touch her? Did he dare lie beside her; gather her frail body into the shelter of his own much stronger one? Did he trust himself to do that? He didn't know. He stretched out cautiously and innately, Buffy moved back against him. At the contact Angel's body stirred instantly to life.  
  
Angel brought his hand up, traced the long line of her throat, the perfect symmetry of her collarbone. Buffy shifted in her sleep, moving on to her back and her change of position exposed her to him. There she lay in all her glory: curves and angles, hills and valleys, a feast for his eyes. Then, suddenly, as he was contemplating moving his hand from her throat to her breast, Buffy's eyes flew open and a sob escaped her mouth.  
  
"Is it a dream?" she murmured. "Please, God, don't let this be a dream."  
  
"It's no dream, Buffy. I'm here."  
  
"I can't bear this, Angel. I can't bear it for one more second."  
  
Angel touched his forefinger to her mouth, shushing her. His eyes locked with hers and she drank in the sight of him, drank in his face as if she were a parched woman who had stumbled, near death, upon on oasis. She was surprised to discover that she did, indeed, have more tears to cry.  
  
"Please don't cry," Angel said. "Please."  
  
"But how can we ever…how can we ever go back?" Buffy managed.  
  
Angel smiled. It was the smile she'd always felt was reserved for her and her heart gave a little leap.  
  
"That's just it Buffy. We don't go back. We go forward."  
  
end 


End file.
